Waste Not, Want Not
by saving private bullshit
Summary: This is the closest they'll ever come to getting what they want. high school au, debriel, one-sided destiel, one-sided sabriel.


Another story for dreadelion's high school AU which you should go gawk at right now. Go. I'll wait here.

Guess what I don't own? If you said Supernatural, then you are correct! Congratulations, you win a shiny silver Audi and a nice wad of cash.

* * *

"How's it hanging, Dean-o?"

The Novaks have a unique ability to pop up behind Dean silently, when he least expects it, and when he's in the middle of something important. Gabriel has not perfected this skill.

Dean bumps his head on the hood of the Impala nonetheless, more of a force of habit than anything.

"Yeah, what do you want," he grumbles. He's always made his distaste for Gabriel well-known, ever since he started making eyes at Sammy. Hypocritical of him, but Dean rather fancied himself a slick fellow.

"Oh, just thought I'd come bother my third-favorite Winchester," Gabriel says, absently picking up a wrench, misjudging its weight, and dropping it on his own foot. He wrinkles his nose, whines "ow…" and kicks it under a shelf as Dean finally finishes his car-stuff and closes the hood.

"Cut the crap," he shoots back, hostile out of reflex. "You never talk to me unless you want something."

Gabriel's face darkens all at once, and the usual cheer drops out of his voice.

"Alright, maybe I do want something, bucko," he admits grimly, like he's proofreading his own eulogy. "And I could say the same for you."

Dean draws back. Briefly he contemplates finding something else to work on in the Impala but the other part of him, the part that learned the art of acting upon gut-feeling from his father, tells him to see this through to the end, whatever the end may be. So he shifts his weight and stands his ground.

"You're telling me I want something?" he repeats, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

"Have to get up pretty early in the morning to fool you."

"Plan on telling me exactly what this is that I want any time soon?"

Dean feels like rolling his eyes but Gabriel beats him to the punch.

"You sorry son of a bitch," he groans, turning away a little in exasperation. "My little brother. Castiel. The one you've been making goo-goo eyes at for the last billion years, ring any bells?"

Oh.

Yes, that does ring a bell. It rings many, many bells, in fact. Suddenly the part of his brain that had forced him onward is going ABANDON SHIP, ABANDON SHIP but there's some even tinier, stupider part that still tells him to forge ahead. So he does.

"Not like you're any better," Dean retorts, fighting the uncomfortable warmth at his neckline. Gabriel grimaces and shrugs, looking down.

"Yeah, well. That ship's sunk before its maiden voyage," he says darkly, eyes barely hiding any of his remorse. But he gives it a minute and then looks up.

And something clicks in Dean's mind.

And he feels himself inching forward, standing straight instead of leaning against his car.

"What you're saying is-"

"What I'm saying is," breathes Gabriel, reaching to brush his fingertips against the front of Dean's shirt, barely putting any pressure on his skin, "is that we've got to make the best of what we've got."

Something has Dean leaning forward, taking Gabriel's arm by the elbow and almost smashing their faces together, trance-like. Their movements are mechanical at first, getting used to this mouth they know they'll never love, this body they'll never melt into, but in the middle of it, that's what makes it good.

They never look away, instead initiating a staring contest, ferocity burning behind their eyes as the kiss (pseudo-kiss) deepens. It gets to the point where Dean's exhaling in sharp bursts to keep it as long as possible but they break apart , puffs of breath almost foggy in the warm space between the two of them.

"You want my little brother, I want yours," Gabriel finally breathes, lips inches from Dean's. "But we can't have them. So the next best option is you and me."

Dean couldn't agree more.

:::: :::: :::: ::::

They're not even naked yet before they tumble into the backseat of the Impala, older brother above older brother. Their lips move against each other's, battling more than caressing, and some clothes are destroyed as they're torn from already-sweaty bodies.

Gabriel keeps his shirt and shoes on and kicks his pants so the bunch and hang off of one ankle, reaching under Dean to free him as well. His lust-clumsy fingers have trouble with the waistband until Dean gets impatient and shoves them down, pulling his cock out and hissing as it hits the air. With a little more fumbling, Gabriel takes both their dicks in one hand and presses Dean's hip with the other, the blood-thick lengths rubbing together and creating a blissful friction.

"Jesus," Dean stutters out, grinding down against Gabriel, "Fucking Christ."

Gabriel has to bite his lip so he won't make a crack about that, because Castiel wouldn't. So he merely grunts and strokes them faster, licking a line up Dean's arched chest and taking a nipple into his mouth. He rolls it between his teeth and smirks against the skin when Dean shivers, but he's always pegged Sam as a screamer.

Now Dean slowly rights himself, gripping Gabriel's knees and pushing them apart. He's just about to uncap the little tube of lube he fished out of the glove compartment when Gabriel stops him with a hand on his thigh.

"I came prepared," he says simply, and it's a miracle Dean didn't come right then and there.

He lined himself up and pushes in slowly, eyes closed and mind foggy but focused and he doesn't stop until he's balls-deep. Gabriel has to stop himself from bucking impatiently, forcing Dean deeper into his ass, but Cas isn't the most forward of people. But, god, if he had it his way, he'd be bouncing in the seat.

But then again, if he had it his way, it'd be with Sam.

Dean seems to pull himself back into the present tense and he draws out, a hand on either of Gabriel's hips. As he establishes a pace, he bends so he's leaning over Gabriel and they do another one of those odd not-really-kisses, only this time, it's real. Real in a fake sense. Their eyes are closed and Gabriel's fingers brush Dean's cheekbones and cup his face to keep him close, and there's actual feeling, not numb objectivity.

"Cas…"

And Gabriel loses his cool, starts pushing back against Dean when he pushes in, and then Dean's gong soft inside him and there are white ribbons of cum on both their stomachs, but there's a rag under the passenger's seat and it's relatively easy to clean up, right their clothes, and catch their breath. The windows of the Impala are almost opaque when they step out.

"This never happened," says Dean, business-like, and Gabriel nods and heads back home.


End file.
